


A Close Call

by RealityInDreams15



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Caring John, Caring Lestrade, Caring Mycroft, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Pre-Slash, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, Slash, Worried John, Worried Lestrade, Worried Mycroft, panicking mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RealityInDreams15/pseuds/RealityInDreams15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is ice. Strong, invincible and cold. So he can't admit to being sick, because he never gets sick. Can a fever break the ice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer// I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of the other characters (not yet anyway, I'm hoping one day...), they are property of BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 
> 
> Actually quite long for a one shot but fun to write! And thanks to @lobstergirl for editing and the support she gave me :D

A/N. This started out as a possibly cute idea in my head. Sick fics are my guilty pleasure and I thought it would be cute to torture my favorite high functioning sociopath and his blogger a little, however, my other guilty pleasure being angst, it became more and more so. This is the result. This is the second fanfiction I'm posting here (or posting in general since I haven't really done so since I was twelve). I live in Italy so please forgive any mistakes, I often mess up with languages -.-" I really hope you enjoy this, I definitely enjoyed writing it  Enjoy and I'd love to hear your feedback, constructive criticism (:

John 

He looked off alright, very off. Call me crazy but something felt wrong, though whatever it was, I couldn't quite put a finger to it.  
Mrs. Hudson, dusting the windowsills despite her constant reminders of 'not your housekeeper', waved at us and immediately locked her eyes on Sherlock.  
"Sherlock, you look terrible!" She uttered from the living room. "Are you feeling alright?"  
So I wasn't the only one to have realized. "Don't be ridiculous, I'm fine." He snapped. Same tone as usual. "In fact, I'm more than just fine. I'm about to get a case!"  
I don't know how he could possibly have known that but Sherlock is Sherlock and as if on cue, the phone rang. It was Lestrade. Sherlock answered and called out to me.  
"John, cancel your plans. We have new ones!"  
I grunted but jumped up, grabbing my pistol and running after him as he put on his coat. He wasn't running though, his movements were much slower than usual. Nonetheless, he walked out of the door with me hot on his trail and called on a cab.  
As soon as we sat down, he closed his eyes and leaned into his clasped hands. Great, mind palace again. This was going to be a quiet ride.  
\---  
As we approached the crime scene I called his name assomeone had to snap him out of his brilliant thinking, as much as he hated it. No answer though, strange.  
"Sherlock." I tried again. Eventually, I realized he wasn't thinking at all. Actually he was, uhm, sleeping? Stranger and stranger.  
I nudged him and he opened his eyes. "Sherlock, we're here." I said, and he flinched. "Sherlock, seriously, what's wrong with you?"  
"I'm fine!" He snapped, getting out of the cab. I just nodded.  
We walked straight up to Lestrade so he could fill us in on the case. "Lonely woman, widowed, lived by herself. Stabwounds to the stomach, no signs of forced entry, everything locked up."  
Sherl, sorry, Sherlock, nodded again without saying a word and walked into the house.  
"What's up with him?" Lestrade asked. I just shrugged following him in, "No idea."  
One look at him in the brightly lit room and I could tell something was actually wrong. He was pale, not his usual white but almost grayish, and his eyes, - how come I had not noticed? - , had turned bright and drowsy.  
Observing I noticed the slight shivering of his tall, lanky frame.  
He walked up to the corpse and started working but just as he leaned down to look at something more closely with the help of his magnifying lens, he lost his balance fell over.  
Lestrade gave me a concerned glance. "Did he drink? Smoke? Anything?"  
"Nope, perfectly clean."  
Confusion filled his eyes. "Well then, is he sick?"  
"Sherlock Holmes? Sick? Never, that's impossible." But even I doubted my words. Nah, no way. Sherlock never gets sick.  
He stood up again and started deducting. "Middle aged, lonely, secretary, has an affair with her..." But then he trailed off mumbling while closing his eyes. He never stops talking while on a new case, he has this habit of making everyone feel like utter idiots. What the heck?  
Lestrade's eyes were clear to read, "Do something!".  
"Sherlock!” I shouted but he didn't move. “Sherlock!" He looked at me, pale as ever, but didn't answer and swayed again, almost falling. I ran up to him and caught him just in time. At the first touch I felt it, he was hot. Hot as in temperature, not that I would deny that he was really "hot". My hand moved to touch his forehead and he tried to back away, but he wasn’t quick enough. I felt a rush of worry overcome me. He wasn't just hot, he was boiling.  
"Sherlock, out of here. Now." He shook his head and started mumbling about the importance of the necklace, whatever, but didn't actually complain when I dragged him out of the building, Lestrade following right behind: he had understood.  
"Home, now." I ordered Sher, but he started protesting. "Why? I'm fine!"  
"No you're not. You can barely stand and you're burning up."  
He sulked but didn't try to convince me he was fine. Bad sign. "Now wait here,” I said, sitting him down on a bench, “I'll be right back." He leant against it, starting to shiver again as I walked back to Lestrade.  
"We're going home and, well, I think we need a ride."  
"What's happening?"  
He was truly worried.  
"He's burning up."  
My voice betrayed my worries.  
"I'm driving you." He answered sternly and we both walked, well actually almost ran, back to Sherlock.  
"Come on, Lestrade's bringing us back to the flat."  
He didn't even respond. God, he must feel miserable to be like this. Usually he'd rather die than take orders.  
I almost manhandled him into Lestrade's car and took the seat next to him. He fell asleep before the car was even started. I pulled him against me to make him more comfortable and tried to stop him from shaking. His skin was getting hotter and hotter by the second.  
"Everything alright back there?" Lestrade called.  
"Asleep."  
He sighed "How high do you reckon?"  
"High? He didn't smoke! I told you."  
Lestrade frustratedly shook his head.  
"No, I meant his fever."  
Feeling stupid, I placed my palm against his scorching forehead.  
"Way over 38 degrees, we really need to get home."  
We reached Baker Street that very moment and after careful consideration I picked Sherlock up and slung him across my shoulders because he was too weak to walk by himself; hell, he was too weak to even protest about being picked up like a sack of grains.  
"I have to get back to the case or they'll wonder where I've gone, text me if there's any problems. Please." Lestrade looked like leaving was the last thing he wanted to do but he had duties.  
"Ok. See you later."  
I was getting seriously anxious.  
As soon as I opened the door Mrs. Hudson called out to us.  
"Already back? You've barely just gone out! You've already solved it haven't you She-." She stopped talking as soon as she saw his limp figure across my shoulders.  
She gasped. "Oh my God, what happened?!"  
"Sick. Definitely. We don't happen to have a thermometer, do we?"  
"Of course dear!" She ran to fetch it. Meanwhile, I laid Sherlock on the couch and covered him with a blanket.  
"Here you go John. And oh my Sherlock, you really do look horrible!" His eyes fluttered open but he quickly shut them again.  
I stuck the thermometer in his mouth and waited for its beep. I was right, he was running a fever of 39.9 degrees. How much of an idiot am I?! I should have thought of it sooner, before going out.  
"Well?” Mrs. Hudson inquired, “how bad is it?"  
"39.9," I replied hastily.  
"Oh that's not good! Maybe we should move him to bed."  
Good idea, and also give him some medication.  
\---  
I tried to lay him down to rest but as soon as I was about to leave him his eyes shot open.  
"Please, stay John. Please."  
His voice was barely a whisper.  
I sat back down next to him and instinctively reached for his forehead again. He didn't even shy back this time. He wasn't behaving like himself, he was acting, well, like normal human being in distress. But why?  
He wasn't lucid and the heat radiating from his body seemed to try to make the point. I needed help. Quickly. I needed Lestrade, if not a whole medical team. The medical tream would have been more efficient, but Lestrade had followed Sherlock through detox and was maybe the only person Sherlock would listen to.  
-Greg, it's John. Please come over, it's urgent. JW-  
Mrs. Hudson walked in to check on him, I could tell she was preoccupied as well.  
"Oh my, it's bad isn't it John?"  
"Well, it could just be the flu..." But my voice faltered as soon as I started the sentence. I'm not stupid, I'm a doctor and I knew this was no common flu.  
"Please fetch the thermometer again."  
"Again? You just took his temperature!" She cried out, but handed it over anyway.  
"I did but, he feels warmer." I stated, trying not to panic. In the meantime Sherlock had fallen asleep once more. I watched him resting peacefully and checked his fever. 40.6, shit! Where was Lestrade?  
-Getting higher. 40.6. JW-  
Then bell rang, it was him. It hadn’t taken him long since the last message to get here, but still too long.  
Mrs. Hudson hurried downstairs to open the door, seconds later he reached the flat panting, clearly having ran up the steps.  
"John, how bad?"  
I closed the door careful not to wake Sher. "Bad."  
"What should we do?" He asked.  
There was only one obvious answer, "Mycroft."  
•••

Mycroft

I was exercising when I heard the phone ring the first time. Whoever it was could wait. I was almost done anyway. It started ringing again. My caller seemed desperate, ugh, people. Annoyed, I looked at the screen. Lestrade. I turned the treadmill off and answered, grabbing it from my desk and making it a point to sound annoyed.  
"What?" I asked into the speaker.  
"Mycroft, it's Sherlock." My heart , skipped a beat. Sentiment? Oh god, middle age was ruining me. Me, sentiment? No, it couldn't be. My heart was probably just irregular from the exercising.  
I struggled to not betray my feelings and kept up the annoyed façade.  
"What about him?"  
"He's sick."  
I sighed. Jesus Christ, they bothered me just to say that my little brother had the ‘flu.  
"So put him in bed, make him tea and read him stories."  
A moment of silence.  
"No, Mycroft, listen. He's really sick. He's barely even conscious. And-" I hung up and rushed to the office, quickly putting on my suit and forgetting to button the jacket. "Helicopter! Now! To 221B Baker's street!". I hadn’t figured out how a helicopter would land yet but there’s always a way, maybe lowering me down? Yes, that would work.  
\---  
I walked into his bedroom and almost gasped. What was wrong with me today?!  
My brother’s face was ashen. I watched the digits on the thermometer climb; it beeped only seconds later. I snatched it before John could and glanced at the result. 41.2?!  
"How did you let this happen?!" I barked at John. "It had to have built up! You're a doctor! You-"  
I would have carried on but was grateful when Lestrade pulled me out of the room to explain and prevent me from doing something desperate.  
"Well?" I inquired in an attempt at being distant and pragmatic. "What happened?"  
Lestrade didn't even have the chance to answer when we heard John yell, "Call 999. Quickly!"  
Panic struck me, badly. Stranger and stranger by the minute, why was this affecting me so much?  
"Why?! What happened?!"  
He gave me a sorrow glance, eyes tearing.  
"Mycroft, quick! He has no pulse."  
I pulled my phone out and dialed, barely thinking.  
"Holmes speaking. I need an ambulance, top priority, now!"  
"What's wrong?"  
"My brother's in a critical situation! Hurry up!"  
I heard a crisp ‘yes’ and hung up, rushing over to my brother’s side.  
I grabbed his wrist and felt it, one heartbeat. Then nothing.  
"John?! You're the doctor, what's happening?!"  
"Uhm, hyperpyrexia and I think-"  
"Oh stop it with the medical chit chat! Will he live?!"  
"Yes. He has to! He's Sherlock Holmes!" But I could read the doubt in his voice.  
"Boys, what's happening? Oh hello Mr. Holmes!"  
"Mrs. Hudson, he's almost flatlined. His heart is stopping." John replied. And tears started to stream down my face for the first time in my life.  
"John, do something. Anything! Please!"  
I grabbed my little brother's hand, he felt so cold.  
"Please Sherlock, please!"  
•••

John

"Sherlock. Oh my god, this isn't happening, oh god, no it can't be! Please come back to me Sherlock, I'll do anything, please, I'm begging you, please, I need you, please!"  
I fell to my knees, desperate, but jumped right back up.  
"You are Sherlock Holmes and you do not die, is that clear?!"  
He had no pulse anymore. I immediately started reanimation, putting as much force I could into pumping his heart. Breathe in, breathe out, pump. Breathe in, breathe out, pump. Breathe in, breathe out, pump.  
That's when I felt it, a feeble heart beat and the noise of a helicopter drawing near. He could make it through this, he had to. Mycroft's team ran in while I continued the basic life support, I was losing him again, more and more desperate as I cried through the rhythmic movements.  
He was placed on a gurney, tubed and hooked up to an ECG which I saw flatline just as soon as he was rolled away.  
"No!" I screamed as they closed the helicopter's doors. "Let me through! Let me through!"  
But it was too late and the helicopter flew away with Sherlock.  
Right behind me was Mycroft, staring distantly out of the window, still as ever.  
Lestrade was on the other side of Sherl's bed, white with shock and Mrs. Hudson, right next to them, was whimpering.  
"What now?" I asked, turning to Mycroft. My voice was barely a whisper, I couldn't handle anything else. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't.  
Mycroft seemed to not hear me, but about half a minute later hushed: "Another helicopter is coming right now to take us to him."  
His voice was flat and emotionless. Not Mycroft's usual "emotionless", this was differen't.  
I recognized the symptoms from my military service in Afghanistan, he was going into shell shock. He went back to staring at the window, unmoving.  
I couldn't think straight, not anymore. I let myself fall to the ground and let the tears stream, wracking my body as I weeped uncontrollably.

Mycroft

Couldn't... Think... Straight... Sherlock... Dying... Where... Brother... Help... John... Doctor... Flatline... Heart... Helicopter... Helicopter! The second helicopter was coming. As difficult as it was, and that was a very difficult action, I composed myself and spoke to John. Actually, yelled at him.  
"What sort of a doctor are you? Your flatmate, not to mention your best friend is sick to the point of risking his life and you barely even noticed!" I stopped though because John just started to cry harder. Lestrade, taken aback by worry himself, went to console him and I was left to my thoughts. I searched through Sherlock's items and sighed upon opening his bedside drawer. Bottles of cough syrup, pain killers and antipyrexics were aligned, most of them used. The receipt next to them was from about three weeks earlier. Three weeks? That's how long he'd been feeling off? I concentrated on these useless, unnerving, facts to distract myself from the ever so evident big picture: my little brother was dying if not already dead. I saw the curtains ripple, the second helicopter was here. I rushed out of the flat and jumped on, followed by John and Lestrade. "Any news?" I asked the pilot, trying to keep my voice calm. "Last thing we heard sir, was code blue."  
Both me and John looked up in terror and I lost all the composure I had, tears once more rolled down my face, but this time I couldn't will myself back into indifference. This time I was lost, because I could have very truly lost him. My only sort-of friend, the little brother I had always secretly cared for to points of exaggeration.  
\---

John

I tried to take controlled breaths as I watched them activate the defibrillator and press it to Sherlock's chest, flinching at his thin body jumping. The glass pane between the room and observation felt like a meter thick wall, I desperately wanted to reach out to him. Once, twice, three times. I held my breath at the shocks but the response was negative every time. I lost all composure as more tears dampened my shirt, and I started sobbing ever more desperately. Four, five, six... The doctor put down the defibrillator and sighed, a frown I knew too well. Sherlock lay there, as white and still as snow. I let out a scream and ran to the door. A nurse dashed after me.  
"You can't go in there! I must ask you to stay outside!" she called.  
I couldn't believe this: "I'm a friggin' doctor! Let me through! Let me through!"  
I staggered into the hospital room and grabbed the defibrillator myself. His body shook again as I placed the heavy metal pads on his bare body. Still no response. The nurse called for assistance, most likely to drag me out. The flatlined ECG rung in my ears, panic taking over me. One more time, it had to work, it had to!  
"Please Sherlock. One more miracle! Please, don't be dead! Please, I love you!"  
I pushed into him stronger than ever and felt his ribs crack in the shot. He shook more violently than any of the preceding times. I threw the pads on the floor, feeling lost, and felt cold panicked fear and resign. Then I heard it, one soft beep.  
People rushed in, in a blur. White figures ran around yelling instructions as I let myself fall from exhaustion and relief.  
His heart was beating. He was alive; amazingly, miraculously, alive.

Lestrade

I'd never seen them all so out of character. Sherlock, not really so but self-proclaimed sociopath who usually can't shut up, silent and helpless.  
John, the doctor with nerves of steel, panicked. And the there's Mycroft, the "ice man", melting? I watched as Mycroft paced the rooms, waiting for news which just wouldn't come. Needless to say, the physicians he'd assigned to Sherlock would inform him with top priority as soon as there was something to inform about, but at the moment no one understood anything. I watched him whack his umbrella against the coffee machine.  
I myself was terrified and struggling to take in the day's events. One moment he had been fine, the next almost passing out at a crime scene and now unconscious after a very, and I must stress the "very", near death experience from heart failure! Everyone around me was breaking down, so I had to be the strong one and not show my fear, especially not to Mycroft.  
Sherlock wasn't coherent enough to understand the situation and John was focussed solely on Sherlock's reactions, not leaving space for comfort. Mycroft however seemed quite lost, and really had no one. Without thinking I walked to him and touched his shoulder.  
"You okay?"  
He tried to huff in dissent but wasn’t very convincing and somehow ended up shrugging.  
"You know, you would be just as respected if you dropped this shield of yours. I myself actually like you better when you express your feelings."  
"I, I mean I, I can't. I -"  
At that moment the physician walked in."Mr. Holmes? I need to speak to you."  
\---

Mycroft

I couldn't believe it. This news was the best I had ever heard.  
"So he'll pull through?"  
The doctor smiled.  
"Yes." His face turned concerned. "Mr. Holmes? Does your brother take care of himself? As in nutrition, sleep and other basic requirements?"  
My heart stumbled once more. Did all this have something to do with his neglect? Something I could have stopped had I taken the effort ?  
"Well, no."  
"His immune defense is almost completely depleted. He's malnourished and seems to have put his body under a lot of stress. This was a simple virus but his body was too weak to handle it."  
I couldn't believe I had let it go so far. I had been so busy making sure he hadn't been shooting up and had completely ignored the real problem.  
"Does John Watson know?"  
"Yes, he's been informed."  
I sighed.  
"Thank you. I shall be outside.”  
\---

John 

"Oh Sherlock, why won't you ever take care of yourself for once? See what this has done to you? You are everything to me. My life was so empty, void of anything since my return to England. Then you came along, and changed it completely. You showed me the chase, the true battlefield of London and you invited me in. I wouldn't have gone anywhere without you. Now I've almost lost you because I wasn't able to take care of you. I'm sorry Sherlock, I thought I had everything under control but I wasn't careful enough. I love you."  
I closed my eyes as I listened to Sherlock, still unconscious, breathing.  
"John... I love you too."  
My eyes snapped open and sure enough, his were open, too.  
"Sherlock! You're awake!"  
I was so happy I couldn't even express it.  
"Yes John, at first I thought I was dreaming but trust me, I checked. What happened anyway?"  
His voice was hoarse, probably from having been tubed.  
"Do you need some water?"  
He started shaking his head, then changed his mind and nodded weakly.  
I grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand, poured him a cup and pu a straw in it. He reached out, but his hand was shaking.  
"Shhh, Sherlock, let me help you."  
He relaxed and let me place the straw to his lips.  
"Thank you."  
Sherlock saying thank you? That was a first.  
I smiled, again.  
"You're welcome."  
"You know, I wasn't lying."  
My look turned quizzical. What was he talking about? I tried to meet his gaze, but he had averted his eyes guiltily  
I open my mouth to talk but he beat me to it.  
"I love you John. I love you. At first I couldn't recognize what I felt for you, then I categorized it as friendship, but slowly I realized that I had other friends, and the feeling was so very different. Later on came the dates. It was agony, pretending not to care while you were out, with someone else, and I was alone in the flat. I was jealous, I needed to have you because you were mine.  
I needed more and more cases, distractions, anything, to keep my mind off you. Then it hit me. I loved you. I always have and always will, even if you'll probably walk out on me right now."  
My eyes felt damp and I realized the tears forming. I had felt an attraction to him since the first moment we met, but I had always thought he was married to his work. So I had tried to ignore the feeling and long ago given up on him. How very wrong I had been.  
"Oh Sherlock. How could I ever run away from you? How can you walk out on the only person that has ever really meant anything to you? Of course I love you! You see everything, but that was so obvious! How did you not deduce it? I've loved you since the first day we met!"

Sherlock

I couldn't believe my ears. John actually returned the feelings I had long ago given up on. This was wonderful, perfect, amazing! We loved each other! But… what did people actually do when they loved each other? Did things change?  
"John?" I asked, sounding a lot more clueless than I would have liked. I felt my cheeks blush some more. "What happens now?"  
He first looked confused but soon after started laughing.  
"You really don't know anything about human nature, do you?"  
I smiled back at him, feeling at ease again.  
"Hmmm, nature? No. Humans? No."  
He laughed again.  
"Well then, let me make this easier for you. Sherlock Holmes, would you like to be my boyfriend?"  
My smile widened.  
"Yes."  
Even though I had almost died, was hooked up to about a dozen IV's, monitors and had a feeding tube, that was the moment I knew everything was going to be okay. Everything would always be okay. I had and would always have my doctor to save me.  
\---

Lestrade

The following week, when Sherlock was finally dismissed from the hospital, everything was back to normal, if not better.  
I watched John and Sherlock walk out of the restaurant holding hands. I had thrown a little "Welcome back" dinner.  
, To my and everyone's surprise, even Mycroft had showed up. Then again, I had chosen his favorite restaurant to coax him into it. Mycroft had, of course, gone back to being Mycroft, but less so.  
He was still frosty but a little less than usual and during dinner had even started chatting with me, at first about current events and then even a bit about himself. Now, as John and Sherlock shared a passionate 'get a room' type of kiss before they jumped into a cab, he was standing next to me.  
I laughed, remembering something he had told me earlier and turned to face him.  
"I can't believe you've never had a boyfriend! What next, you've never even kissed anyone?"  
He looked down, obviously embarrassed.  
"Oh God, Mycroft?! Where have you been living your whole life?"  
I caught his gaze, getting lost in his eyes and then I felt mine widened in disbelief as he leant towards me. I closed my eyes and felt his soft lips, caressing mine and taking over.  
I lost track of time until he pulled back, smiling at me.  
"Thank you, Inspector Lestrade."  
I couldn't believe it. I had just kissed the English government. Still dazed, I raised my hand to hail a cab. It was getting quite late. Mycroft grabbed my arm gently.  
"And what do you think you're doing?"  
He asked.  
"Umm, calling a cab. It's getting late you know and I really should get home."  
He smiled at me once more but I couldn't understand what he was getting at. He then spoke words I hadleast expected.  
"I perfectly agree with you, but what are you calling a cab for at all? My flat is only a few blocks away."  
•••

THE END


End file.
